


Logic, Meet Luna

by Applepie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applepie/pseuds/Applepie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luna Lovegood has moved into 221c Baker Street! So what happens when you mix a 'loony' pureblood witch in a muggle area with logic driven residents? Err... not much, really. Just a whole lot of confusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ...meet John Watson.

When John met Luna Lovegood, he learned that he could never have normal friends in his life. Ever. Proven fact.

The younger girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties, was by the doorway of 221 talking with Mrs Hudson as John was leaving the flat for work.

"Oh, hello there," John greeted the two as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson, Miss …"

The girl smiled serenely at him. "Very good morning," she replied dreamily.

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, but… "Er, yes it is." John agreed hesitantly.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes twinkled as she looked over at him. "Good morning, Dr. Watson. Please meet Luna. The dear girl is renting out 221c, aren't you love?"

"Of course, Mrs Hudson," Luna nodded back happily. "The Ritevyms love dark enclosed places of homes, and I'm quite thrilled I might be able to meet one." Her silver-blue eyes glowed brilliantly as she drifted dreamily into her own world. "And to live with them too!"

For a second John wondered if Sherlock would have any idea what a Ritevym was, before he remembered his manners. "Ah," John reached out his hand, "John Watson, I live in 221b. Nice to meet you."

The girl in front of him smiled. "Luna Lovegood," she said into his hands.

There was a slight awkwardness as the girl took his hand in hers to examine before shaking it. So, John did what he did best after months of living with Sherlock; he ignored it.

"Pleasure," he replied. A moment later, the doctor let out a chuckle. "So, are you going to tell me my whole life's story?" he asked good-naturedly.

Luna looked up at him, "Sorry?" Confusion and curiosity flitted over her face, and John realised that she hadn't met Sherlock yet.

"Ah, yes," John amended, "My, er, flatmate, Sherlock, he's a detective. He can tell someone's whole story from simply looking at them." The man blushed scratching his cheek in embarrassment. "Sorry, I was just trying to make a joke. Didn't realise you've yet to meet Sherlock."

The soldier looked up, only to suddenly stumble back as large, owlish, silver-blue eyes leaned into his face. "Terribly sorry, did you want me to as well?" Luna brushed a long stand of hair out of her face as she continued to stare unblinkingly at him, studying. It unnerved John just as well as any of Sherlock's piercing gazes. "I didn't realising it was custom to rattle off someone's life in front of others," she said with interest. "Seem quite fun."

John tried not to groan into his hands. Why was the lack of social knowledge a common thing around him nowasays? "It's not a custom," he corrected the younger girl, smile waning. "That's just Sherlock being… Sherlock."

"Oh," Disappointment flashed over her face for a second.

Mrs Hudson look upset at him for upsetting her new tenant. John suppressed a sighed, and tried not to look too much like a school boy who just got scolded by his mum for stealing sweets. "But I suppose you could do me, if you want to," the doctor amended, hoping he wouldn't regret the decision.

Excitement flickered through the blond's eyes once more. "Oh, if you don't mind!" she said cheerfully.

John steadied himself. Surely it couldn't be worse than whatever Sherlock could dole out?

The blond hummed as budging owl-like eyes surveyed him, before flickering to the space above his right ear for reason John could not discern. "Well, have very nice round ears, so you're likely not a goblin, or of goblin descendant." She paused. "Very nicely shaped ears, in fact," Luna continued, leaning in for a closer look, "I'm surprised you haven't been nominated for  _Best Ear Weekly_. I can put in a recommendation for you if you like."

"Err." John tried not to look strangely at her. "Thank you?"

The blond beamed at him, "Now where was I?" The girl shifted her gaze to his hair. "You must have a very messy home," Luna commented.

John thought about Sherlock and his mess of lab equipment and papers scattered everywhere, no matter how hard John tried to clean it up. "Quite messy," he agreed.

The blond nodded knowingly to herself. "Dabblewarps like to live in the hair of people with clean homes," the girl elaborated, "That's why back at my old house, daddy and I used to devote a day every week to untidying the house. You never know when those nasty Dabblewarps might sneak in and make nest!" Luna lectured seriously.

"Of course," John answered warily, hoping he looked like he knew what on earth she was talking about. "Yes,  _Drabbleworbs_."

"Dabblewarps," Luna corrected without missing a beat. "And I also suspect you like wearing socks, brushing your teeth with your left hand, and probably Thestrals, if you've seen one."

"Ahh?" John answered at a loss of words.

He was distracted when Luna suddenly whipped her head around as if following the movement of something. "Oooh! A Blibbering Humdinger!" she exclaimed in delight.

Try as he might, John could make out nothing at the direction she was staring at. He hadn't even seen movement out of the corner of his eyes.

"I haven't seen one in ages!" Luna continued happily, "Not after I left school. They always hung out around Harry."

The doctor froze at that. "Harry?" Did she mean Harriet Waston?

"Oh, you know Harry too?" the witch giggled, "He's gotten even more popular after the Battle of Hogwarts. I think th-"

John sighed in relief, thanks Gods Luna hadn't been talking about his sister. It frightened him to even think that his sister might have gotten involved with such an odd girl. And what was this 'the Battle of Hogwarts'? It sounded like some competition game involving pigs.

"-lots of fire like the Weasleys' fireworks, and you must live a life full of adventure!" John caught the end of Luna's sentence. "Blibbering Humdinger like following around people who lie thrilling lives," Luna finished with an excited clap of her hands. "Well?" she asked, looking so sparklingly hopeful.

John was crossed between bewilderment and a touch of amazement. On one hand, she didn't get anything wrong; on the other, she could've easily just guessed her 'deductions'. "Not bad," John finally replied with a hint of a smile. "Well, I don't reckon anyone can be as thorough as Sherlock, but you have pretty good deductions." Not that he understood half of what she said, mind you.

John glanced at his watch, suddenly jolting in surprised. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry for having to run out on you, but I'm late for work!"

"Oh, I'm sorry for keeping you!" Luna exclaimed. "You'd better hurry," she ushered.

They gave a wave to each other as John hobbled off towards work. He was barely a meter away when Luna's voice called him back with a, "Oh, by the way…"

The doctor turned around, curious. "Yes, is there something wrong?" he asked.

The blonde shook her head. "Oh no, I just wanted to say thank you," she said sincerely.

"For what?" John couldn't recall doing anything to be thanked for.

Luna just smiled at him. "Oh, you know, the war. The muggles had one in…" She gave out a hum in thought, "Afghanistan or Iraq…?" the blond questioned.

The doctor froze on spot. "Afghanistan…" John murmured, partly to himself, eerily reminded of the first time he met Sherlock. The word 'muggles' didn't even register in his brain.

The girl didn't seem to hear him as she continued talking, "War is a cruel thing. War heroes should always be thanked," Luna said seriously, eyes glazed as if remembering. A moment later, they refocused back on him. "So … thank you," she said, after a pause.

"How…" John started, but he'd lived with Sherlock long enough to know just how many clues his person gave off. Instead, the man settled with an embarrassed, "You're welcome," back at the girl, before continuing his way off.

For an insane split second, the doctor couldn't help but wonder if Luna also had a Holmesian brain. She was definitely crazy enough to be a genius like Sherlock, that's for sure. And even before the war comment, it wasn't like she  _did_ get anything wrong about him…

The wonders of Baker Street never ceased.


	2. ... meet Sherlock Holmes

For a while, Sherlock and Luna never seemed fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to run into each other since Luna's arrival to 221c. John tried to delude himself into thinking that perhaps they would never meet, and Sherlock wouldn't have the chance to go and scare off the poor girl.

That changed the moment John and Sherlock stepped off the cab one day, back from their adventures in the morgue with Molly.

John froze the second he saw Luna slowly walking towards their flat from down the street. His sandy-brown eyes flickered towards Sherlock wondering if he could lecture the man about manners before she could make it to earshot.

Too late. "Hello, John," Luna said amicably. "How are you today?" She turned her silver-blue eyes to the detective beside him. "And you must be … Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock gave her a glance. His critical eyes caught everything from the grooved behind her left ear (was that a mark from a pencil or a paintbrush?) to the worn sneakers on her feet. He opened his mouth and John knew, before Sherlock even spoke, that his following words were not going to anything near amicable greetings.

Mrs Hudson would probably have to find a new tenant for 221c.

The consulting detective seemed oblivious to John's plight as he glanced down at the hands of the girl before him. "I see you're a writer. Used to be, to be precise – journalist. Family owned newspaper. Now, not so much; you travel around a lot now. Searching. An Explorer?" Sherlock mused to himself before switching tracks to something more interesting. "You're living on your own after the relatively recent death of your father – murder, was it? You know who did it and they were caught." There was a small pause when Sherlock mutter, "How dull," to himself before he continued on.

"You don't have a lot of money, perhaps just funds left to you by your father – yet you're living on your own instead of flat sharing?" The man let out a short hum, before eyes lighting up in understanding. "Ah, you don't have a lot of friends – bullied a lot at school. Most likely all the friends you do have are married now, or prefer living on their own. You don't trust living with a stranger – no, not trust, it's worry. You don't know how, perhaps? Oh, no; you've got a secret you don't want them to know." There was an almost ecstatic grin on Sherlock's face when he realised Luna had a secret to hide. He was practically vibrating in delight at the thought of uncovering it.

There was a beat of silence.

John groaned soundlessly into the palms of his hands.  _Not good. Definitely not good._ Sherlock just called her father's murder dull, pointed out she was bullied, and looked eager to discover and spill out the rest of her secrets.

A moment passed. John just was about to start earnestly apologising for his flatmate when Luna spoke up. "Are you a Swagglemoth?" Luna asked genuinely, eyes shining brightly. She looked as though nothing was wrong, and a perfect stranger had  _not_  just unloaded her whole personal history.

John stopped in place, amusement slowly building up inside him.  _Or not_ , he corrected himself.

John tried to hide a laugh in a cough as Sherlock stared incredulously at the girl. "I beg your pardon?"

The blond nodded happily, oblivious to Sherlock's tone. "Swagglemoths can suck up people's thoughts and memories and take a copy of it for themselves. Although, they usually keep it all to themselves. This is the first time I've ever heard of a Swagglemoth voluntarily give back information to the victim. Is this a new thing?" Luna asked curiously, eyes widening in innocent curiosity.

"A  _Swagglemoth_?" Sherlock huffed, feeling ridiculed. "There is no such thing as a  _swagglemoth_. I merely observed and I saw all I needed to know – something  _no one_  seems capable of doing anymore. The callus on your finger show you write a lot. There's a groove above your left and right ear, made by different objects. Your right side – you're right-handed – is made most likely by your writing utensil. If you had a desk, you wouldn't need to store your pen there, so you're likely standing when writing. You can see on your left hand, you use that to support your paper. You write on the scene, probably  _of_  the scene, so an article on a newspaper. But you've been writing a long time, since you were young. Not a lot of people would hire a child to write articles for them, nor would you apply for it – so family owned. I can see you travel a lot from your shoes – all scuffed and worn. You prefer comfort than anything fancy, so you are used to going out on all sorts of terrain. It's –"

As Sherlock continued to explain his methods, Luna regarded the taller man through the long dirty blond stands of hair that fell across her face. Her eyebrows scrunched together as though she was in deep thought. She smiled a second later waiting for Sherlock to conclude his speech before saying, "Oh, right, I shouldn't have pointed out that you were a Swagglemoth in front of people, should I? That beats the purpose of trying to blend in with humans. Don't worry, I won't tell."

"Not an explorer. Obviously you're a cryptozoologist," Sherlock muttered to himself, "trying to convince me of some nonsensical animal."

"I never knew they could take the form of humans, though. I must remember to report this on The Quibbler."

"Ah, yes, the newspaper." The man scoffed. "Ignorant! Did you even listen to me?" Sherlock exclaimed, brusquely interrupting her. He ignored Luna, analyzing her once more. "You say what you want, and clearly don't care what people think about you." His observations quickly slipped from 'eerily uncomfortable' to the 'blatantly rude' side of the spectrum; a rare occurrence because most would've socked him and walked away by now. "And your fashion! Appalling! Simply atrocious, and yet you have the littlest care for it. Certainly the reasons why you were bullied. And - are those real radishes?" he whipped around, pointing a long, pale finger at her earrings.

" _Sherlock_!" John cried, appalled.

Luna only smiled. "Of course they are. They keep the Nargles away."

"Excuse me?"

"They're mischievous little creature that like to steal." Her eyes lit up. "They infest mistletoes, so do be careful at Christmas. They stole my shoes once. I needed them to get to class, but they never gave them back. But the grass did feel so nice and warm through my toes," the girl babbled on, but John could tell Sherlock already tuned her out, a familiar sour look in place.

_If looks could kill._

The doctor turned to watch his flatmate deduce over her rambling.

"There's something I'm missing," the man groused to himself, "something important." He continued to stare at Luna, no care for her personal space. Luna didn't seem to notice a thing. "It's what your life is base on. Religion? No; boring!" Sherlock dismissed. "Not that. It's part of that secret you're keeping. A way of living?" he mused. "And you've also been part-" the words died on his lips. Part of the war? How? The girl was entirely too young. And it definitely wasn't in Afghanistan or Iraq. She didn't have the complexion – the tanned skin John had. It  _was_  a war, but what other war was there?

His back stiffen in irritation, disliking the feeling of confusion.

Luna looked over at him, curious at his pause. "Well, if it helps, I like blueberry muffins, I can hold my breath for fifty-eight seconds exactly, I wear my left sock before my right one, on Sundays I move my bed to the west in hopes of Crummunps coming to make a visit, and I'm learning mermish, the native language of the Merpeople."

Sherlock gave an annoyed huffed and rolled his eyes at her words, but John could see a shine of delight in those brilliant icy blue eyes of his. Sherlock found a puzzle he liked, and he was eager to solve it.

The man's phone suddenly beeped a couple times and his blue eyes suddenly snapped back into attention. "Come along, John." Sherlock said abruptly, "Lestrade left a case file on our coffee table, if his excessive nagging is any indication." He turned his back to the blond girl in front of him, entirely forgetting (most likely ignoring) her presence in favour of a case.

"What?"

"Mrs. Hudson let him in while we were out," the taller man said succinctly.

"Ah." The doctor didn't bother questioning his flatmate, bidding Luna quick goodbye. John dutifully moved to follow after Sherlock into their flat. He was halfway there when movement from the little blond caught his eye.

He turned, seeing Luna standing where she was, a long tree branch (where did she get that from?) tapping her lips thoughtfully. The girl had a short frown on her face, lips pursed, as if contemplating what to do.

John knew he probably looked as bewildered as he felt. Maybe Sherlock knew what was going on?

The doctor turned to his flatmate only to realize that the man was already up the stairs and in their flat – probably lying on the couch trying to figure out their newest tenant and texting back scalding messages to Lestrade, if John knew Sherlock well enough. He was half tempted to call the detective down to see what he could make of this scene.

And  _what_  was with that  _tree branch_?

A moment later, before John could even take a step, Luna shook her head softly to herself, branch disappearing … down her sleeve?

John ran a hand though his hair.  _You know what, just forget it,_  he thought to himself. He'll ask Sherlock about it the next time it happened. The detective probably wouldn't find it all that interesting anyways.

It probably wasn't even important.

And so John slowly climbed up the stairs, clearing the scene he witness out of his mind.


	3. ...meet Mycroft Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time deciding whether or not I should've had Mycroft aware (even a slightly bit) of the wizarding world. He IS, after all (as someone pointed out), very very high up in the government. ...in the end, NOPE! Too bad, Mycroft!

A long, black car drove silently into a bare storage house, long abandoned, and a perfect place to unload the kidnapped. The door of the car clicked open as it came to a halt, depositing a young blond out. A sole figure stood to greet her, tapping his umbrella on the concrete ground, watching as the girl brushed herself off, and slowly got her bearings.

"Miss Luna Lov-" the man with the umbrella began. He was unexpectedly interrupted.

"Ohh, how marvellous!" Luna crooned, wide silver-blue eyes taking in the abandoned warehouse. "Is this where muggles meet up for tea? It's very spacious." The girl looked around eagerly.

Mycroft blinked, taken back, before gesturing to the wooden chair in front of him with his umbrella. "Please, have a seat," he ordered politely, regardless.

As her unblinking clear eyes turned towards him, the older man had to marvel at the utter sense of fearlessness she emitted. The only sign she gave for the situation she was in was the slight tensing of her right hand, as though she was ready to whip something out at him at any moment. Mycroft couldn't see any sign of a firearm on her, and he doubted a knife would even reach where he was. He applauded her vigilance, nevertheless.

With a pout-like pursed lip, the young blond complied with his order, slowly lowering herself down on the wooden chair. Mycroft cleared his throat, and began his greeting once more. "Miss Luna Lovegood, I presume? I'm glad you've complied to have this meeting with myself," he said, with what could've passed as an amicable smile, dabbed with the practice-perfected amount of intimidation.

Luna was undaunted. "Indeed, Marvin," she nodded. Her response echoed in the warehouse.

"Marvin?" he repeated.

The girl tilted her head to the side, long strands of dirty blond hair fell across her face. "No?" she wondered out loud. "I was sure you were a Marvin… what about Mark? You look like a Mark."

"You do not require a name from me," the man interrupted calmly, "I am no one of consequence."

"But it's only fair since you were able to guess my name so easily," Luna mused thoughtfully. "I must really look like a Luna. …Are you sure you're not a Mark?"

Mycroft let out a sigh. "If you must, Mark is a suitable name, Miss Lovegood," he said.

The blond grinned and clapped her hands happily. "I knew it!"

"Back to the matter at hand," Mycroft, dubbed Mark, continued. Luna nodded, focusing her large bugged eyes at the man.

"So we're going to talk about umbrellas?"

An elegant eyebrow arched at her words. "' _at_  hand', Miss Lovegood, not ' _in_ my hand'."

"Oh?" Luna hummed. Despite that, her eyes remained on his umbrella curiously. "Is that a normal umbrella, sir?" she wondered out loud.

"What else would it be, Miss Lovegood?" Mycroft asked, voice never leaking a hint of the exasperation he felt. This interrogation would take longer than he planned if the girl kept this up.

Luna Lovegood pursed her lips in thought, tapping her chin lightly. Her eyes lit up a second later. "Oh, are you Hagrid's brother? I think Harry mentioned that Hagrid had a younger brother!" The girl grinned to herself, oblivious to the look Mycroft was giving her. "Hagrid always carried around a pink umbrella. The resemblance of your black umbrella is  _uncanny_."

"Is that so?" The elder Holmes shifted his umbrella to the crook of his arm. "But I'm afraid, Miss Lovegood, that the resemblance of umbrellas is not a reliable way of judging the relationship between people."

Luna nodded thoughtfully. "Oh? Then do you suppose Hagrid's brother would want an umbrella like Hagrid's? Just not broken, of course," the girl pondered out loud.

"Regardless," Mycroft interrupted, "we are not here to discuss umbrellas."

"We're not?"

"I hear, Miss Lovegood, that you have moved to 221c Baker Street?" Mycroft forged on.

"That's right," Luna confirmed with a nod. "Would you like to visit some time to have tea and talk about umbrellas there?" she asked.

With a brief pause, he continued. "I believe you've also met the other residences of 221 Baker Street."

"Oh, did you want to have tea with everyone, then?"

"And in particular, a Sherlock Holmes," he finished, carefully ignoring her words now.

"Well, it would be silly of me to know everyone of 221  _except_ Sherlock," Luna commented.

"Yes, well, I do worry about Sherlock," Mycroft began, on track of his carefully planned speech once more. "I worry constantly. Sherlock seems to have a habit of attracting trouble, and the lively antics he gets to are quiet unsettling," he said seriously. "It is very distressing to watch." He shook his head softly, the perfect poster boy of a concerned man.

Luna hummed, pondering the words. The government official watched, studying her face and reaction. Perhaps Dr Watson might not be the only one to pass his test this year?

Luna scratched her chin thoughtfully. "You know, me too," the blond witch agreed. "I worry for him too." Mycroft raised a manicured eyebrow at the girl. "I can't help but fear he might be discovered to be a Swagglemoth by others. Who knows what would happen then!" Luna leaned in closer to the man standing tall in front of her, as if letting him in on a secret. "He is perfectly horrible at hiding it!"

Mycroft felt a throb by his temples. Dare he ask what a Swagglemoth was? "Is that so?"

Luna nodded fervently. "But no doubt you knew that too. Why else would you need to worry about another grown man as much as you do now?"

Her wide eyes looked so innocent, the Holmes couldn't even tell if she was just saying that, or implying something.

He pushed forwards to his next plans regardless. "Miss Lovegood," Mycroft began, "I happen to notice that you could use some help with affording a life in central London." He pretended to shuffle through some papers. "Ah, let's see; you merely have a single account opened in a small bank, and ah-" he pulled up a paper from his folder, "That is rather an insubstantial sum for someone hoping to live comfortably where you do now."

"Oh, Daddy set up a muggle account for me?" The girl seemed shocked she even had an account in the first place, Mycroft noticed. And why did she keep saying 'muggle'? As far as Mycroft was concerned, that was not even a word. Was it a new slang? He would have to ask his PA about it afterwards.

"Your father didn't even have one himself," the man noted.

Luna nodded, "Daddy didn't like how the bank didn't have any carts to ride in when we go get our money."

"I see." Honestly, that was a lie. He didn't see. But regardless, "I'd be happy to," Mycroft paused. How did he word this to Dr. Watson again? Ah, yes, "I'd be happy pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way into Baker Street." He focused on the girl's reaction.

"No thank you," Luna said serenely, "The exchange rates are terrible."

That was an unexpected answer. "Exchange rates? Are you planning on moving out of the country?" Mycroft asked.

"Of course not. I do occasionally travel around looking for creatures, but I stay in England most of the time."

The older Holmes pursed his lips. "Then allow me to reiterate: I'd be happy pay you a meaningful sum of money, in whatever currency you require, on a regular basis to ease your way into Baker Street."

The girl shook her head again. "No thank you. I rather don't like dealing with the goblins unless it is unavoidable, nowadays. I think that they're part of the Rotfang Conspiracy now, ever since the original members started doing their jobs properly."

Mycroft closed his eyes. He could name four completely irrational things in those two sentences. "And if you did not have to deal with … goblins?" he asked instead.

"Well, I wouldn't know how to store my galleons then."

The Holmes tried not to rub in temples in bewilderment. And now they were suddenly talking about sixteenth century European sailing ships? Did she want him to pay her in  _ships?_ In less than a second, the man came to a decision. He took out his phone and punched in some numbers before pocketing it again.

A black car drove in not a minute later.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Lovegood," he said, wearily, leaning heavily on his umbrella. "This meeting has been most…  _interesting_."

"Very," Luna agreed cheerfully.

Mycroft quirked a quick smile in response. "In any case, I am afraid I must cut our chat short." The door to the car swung open, a hand from the inside welcomed the girl in. "My assistant will escort you home," he said gesturing for Luna to step into the car. "It was a pleasure to meet you." Mycroft watched as the blond skipped happily into the waiting car, shaking his head softly. "Please continue to worry about Sherlock," he called after her.

Luna turned sharply on her heel. "Only if you promise not to tell anyone he's secretly a Swagglemoth," Luna said firmly.

"As you wish."

And then the door slammed shut, car speeding away.

Mycroft sighed, umbrella tapping rhythmically in the echoing warehouse. His head hurt already. He wondered if he could cancel his meeting with embassy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a review I got:  
> Well, (in my opinion, at least), I don't think she's violating the Statue of Secrecy. Nothing she's saying gives away that she's a witch. Plus even the wizarding world doesn't believe in her imaginary creatures anyways.
> 
> Besides, Luna's a good witch; when she thought Sherlock was a bit close, she debated about contacting Oblivators... She changed her mind because surely the oh-so-logical Sherlock wouldn't even consider the possiblilty of witches. :)


	4. ... meet the New Scotland Yard

"Freak's here," Sally Donovan called out as soon as Sherlock slid out of the cab. She watched as Dr. Watson scampered after the taller man, and … a young blond followed quickly behind them as well? "Oy! This isn't a gathering, Freak. We don't need more of your pets here," she cried, trying to flag down Lestrade.

John let out a sigh, and rubbed his building headache. "Yes, sorry about that. This is Luna Lovegood. She lives in the flat below ours," John amended, trying to calm Donovan. He then turned to the young blond beside him. "And I apologise to you too, Luna. She doesn't mean anything bad about you." He tried to block out Donovan's 'actually-yes-I-did' glare back at him.

The young blond jolted in surprise and glance over at the both of them, as if only just realizing what was going on. "Oh, she was referring to me too? I'm used to answering to 'Loony'. That's the first time I've been referred to as something else," she said in amazement.

 _Loony? Well she certainly was,_ John thought to himself. But having that being told to her face was another thing entirely.

The girl continued speaking, ignorant. "So, if Sherlock's 'freak', and we're both 'pets', what animals should we be?" It was almost distorting how merrily and thoughtfully she treated the insult.

"Oh yes, do tell, Sally," Sherlock smirked, his baritonal voice carrying over from ahead of the group. The sergeant sputtered something unintelligent back at him. "Dogs? Really? Do be more creative."

"I would like to be a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Luna said sincerely. "Although, I do like it here more than Sweden," she added as an afterthought.

"What does Sweden have to do with anything?" Donovan grumbled, still trying to wave the inspector over. Let  _him_  deal with the freak and his friends.

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks obviously are found in Sweden," Sherlock drawled, as though he  _didn't_  scoff at Luna's imaginary creatures. "Not only do you not look, you don't listen either!" he ridiculed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Yes," Luna nodded cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the growing frustration building up around her. "That's right. I spent all of fifth-year in Sweden with Daddy looking for one," she said happily, clasping her hands in joy, "and Daddy found me a horn too!" Luna grinned brightly, before her face dropped into a pout. "Too bad it blew up and destroyed our house," she said sulkily.

"Your horn … blew up," John repeated. "For no reason?" he tried to understand.

"Oh no," Luna exclaimed, "It got hit."

 _By what, a bomb?_  John waited, but that seemed to be the end of the discussion.

Sally had left sometime during the conversation, opting to seek out Lestrade herself instead of trying to flag him down. John suspected she just didn't want to deal with them anymore. Not that she  _ever_  wanted to.

It only took a second for Lestrade to stride over, face fixed into a disapproving frown. "Sherlock, just because I allow Dr. Watson in, doesn't mean you can keep inviting people into my crime scene."

" _Your_  crime scene?" Sherlock scoffed.

John stepped in to split the two before Sherlock could get them thrown out before they could even step foot into the murder site. "I'm sorry Inspector. This is Luna Lovegood, the new tenant below us." The blond gave a merry wave from the side. "We were all going out for lunch together – still in the cab - when you called us. We figured, " - _Or rather, Sherlock demanded,_ "it would be best to visit the crime scene right away. Luna didn't mind tagging along."

"I won't be in your way, Sir," the blond said.

Lestrade frown briefly, but his face cleared up a second later, with a friendly retort. "So I guess you couldn't take care of Sherlock all alone anymore, huh Dr. Watson? He's a handful, that one," he said in a conspiring tone to Luna.

John chuckled as Sherlock frowned down on him. "Am not. Tell him, John."

"Well…" the soldier began.

Sherlock could tell what John was going to say before he even started. "Never mind. Forget it," he interrupted. John blushed in embarrassment, knowing he was caught, as the taller man fixed a  _look_  at him. "At least I'm not the one being stalked by Nargles," Sherlock huffed.

"By what?"

"They love to steal things," Luna informed the Inspector.

John frowned, "Sherlock, I  _know_ it was you who stole my phone. You texted Detective Lestrade with it."

"No, the Nargles gave it to me. They're rather fond of me."

"Are they?" Luna squealed in delight.

The Inspector blinked. "Wha? What?" Lestrade was quiet for a moment, before he finally shook his head. "You know what, I don't care. Sherlock, just go do your thing. You're making my head hurt."

Luna regarded the greying man thoughtfully. "Oh my, maybe there's a Wrackspurt infestation here?" she said concernedly.

"A what?"

John groaned.

"Wrackspurts. They're invisible and float though your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she said seriously. "You should really watch out for them. They tend to hinder work."

"Oh yes," Sherlock snickered amusedly, "You wouldn't want the Wrackspurts to do with what little competence the police only have."

"Sherlock, go or I'm kicking you out of the crime scene," Lestrade ordered. Sherlock left immediately, grumbling under his breath. The other three watched as the consulting detective sulkily slid away.

A second later, Luna's face brightened up as she realised something. "Oh, I think I have a pair of spectrespecs with me, if you want to look for Wrackspurts," Luna offered to the DI as she rummaged through her pockets.

"Er…"

"Ah-ha!" the blond cried. She held up a pair of gaudy glasses, similarly tinted like the blue-red lenses of 3D glasses, except large, round, and sparkly. "They came free with the 1996 issue of The Quibbler," Luna explained, as she handed the pair over to the inspector.

Lestrade drew back. "Maybe next time," he said, glancing at John from the corner of his eye. His ' _what is wrong with her?_ ' look was as clear as day.

The doctor shrugged helplessly.

"Alright," Luna replied, withdrawing her hand. "Let me know if you want them." Luna smiled, gently placing the glassing on the tip of her nose. She looked around, eyes following things neither of the two men present could see. "Maybe I should dance to attract the Wrackspurts' attention away from your men while they work?" Luna wondered out loud.

If everyone had not backed away from her earlier, they certainly did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so as far as I know, the spectespecs have no magic in them whatsoever, that's why Luna's actually showing them to people.


End file.
